


Pirates and Predators

by TruebornAlpha



Series: Ab Aeterno [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Captain Scott, Captain Stiles, Curses, Historical Fantasy, Immortality, M/M, Magic, Manipulation, Pirates, ProScott, Rape, Reincarnation, Serial Killer, Smut, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 09:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4781873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott McCall, the Fortune's Ghost, has finally found freedom on the high seas as a respected and feared pirate captain. But the past always has a way of catching up no matter how far you run from it.</p><p>In the present day, the serial killer known as the Blind Man, who stalks the streets of Beacon Hills, is finally revealed.</p><p>A part of Ab Aeterno, a love story across lifetimes and throughout history between two idiot best friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pirates and Predators

 

 

 

**Art by the wonderful[DakotaLiar](http://tmblr.co/m9ddeaFnBEJVqtj1zyBF7Kg)**

 

Scott breathed in salt and spray with a grin, strolling with ease along the deck as the ship skimmed through the clear water. He loved this, the sunny days with a stiff breeze that sent them running with the waves just as much as he loved the stormy, terrifying days when the ocean tried to reach up and swallow them down. It set his heart racing, isolated out in miles of nothing with a crew at his side and the gentle creak of the Barque beneath his feet. His triple-masted beauty was smaller than what most of his competition sailed or the warships from the British and Spanish navies that were sent to protect the trade routes, but he was happy to sacrifice a little gun power for speed and maneuverability. He could sail circles around the hulking galleons and bring down a merchant ship in less than an hour with a little bit of skill.

This was freedom, a brand new world far from the memories that haunted him. Finding Stiles again and again when he didn’t remember Scott at all was painful, losing him every time was worse. And that was when he could recognize his best friend at all. Scott was never sure until it was all too late and had been wrong too many times to be certain. Even when he did find Stiles, there was no way to keep him. He died, Scott lived, and it was a never ending cycle. Once he’d thought that if he could find Stiles early enough, they could break this curse together. Now, Scott knew the only way to save his best friend was to lose himself in the world so no one could ever find him. Maybe without the curse drawing Stiles back, he could finally rest in peace. For the past hundred years, it had worked.

He’d taken to the sea to escape and had never stopped running, reckless in his immortality. He had worked his way up, learning the craft like an eager student though sometimes the lessons were harsh. The life of a sailor was a hard one, storms and shipwrecks were ever present and disease threatened any crew. There were mutinies and bloody uprisings, pirates that lurked the horizon and the privateers who were barely better than the brigands they hunted. Scott’s hands grew rough and calloused, his already dark skin burned deep brown from the sun. He had been a king and a scholar who had once never known a day of work. Scott liked this so much better.

Years of hard work and a little luck paid off as Scott quietly amassed a fortune, building his own paradise with a white sanded beach on his own island. He bought himself a small fleet of ships, fast and small with a deadly bite for anyone who dared get close. Trade was a legitimate business, but their world was a cut throat and his fleet often turned to piracy when competition was fierce.

They built their reputation on both fear and mercy, taking down warships twice their size, but sparing their captives to ransom back to their families in Europe. He was adamant about freeing slaves chained to galley oars to join his own crew for a chance at treasure and a new life, demanding that those who chose to sail with him did so willingly. Those who refused were set ashore with a week’s worth of supplies and directions to the closest port town so they could find their way back to Europe. Those that stayed were embraced as family. The few hundred men who called him Captain followed him with a loyalty that Scott had never expected. He was just a man again, a part of something with a place in the world.

For the first time in centuries, Scott felt  _alive_  again.

Perhaps the most interesting thing about him was that, in the many years that made up his long and fascinating life, no one had ever come so close to knowing the full truth of who he was. Rumors spread over the seven seas about a vicious pirate captain who would not perish, under the cold cut of steel or the punishing burn of musket fire. Any ship unfortunate enough to bear the ill will of the Fortune _,_  and her crew carried away the same stories. It didn’t matter how often you cut down their Captain. Death never claimed him.

Some say he sold his soul to Davy Jones for all of Jones’s power. Some say he keeps a sea witch hidden with his treasures and steals his youth from her victims. His crew doesn’t know why, but they’ve seen enough of the truth to believe. They spent decades with their Captain. They saw firsthand what sparked the rumors, and told their own tales of his mystery. There were those old enough to remember the burial Scott held for his first mate, the very first, and there were those old enough to remember the first time their Captain sliced open his hand the fateful day they took down their first Spanish gunboat. That was back in the day when the Captain was still newer to the sea, before the Fortune had her own terrifying and intriguing reputation. Most of the old timers had a permanent spot on the Captain’s private islands, or back home with their family’s with their Captain’s good will as their last memory, but the newer crew members would soon have their own stories to tell.

“Captain!” Sounded from the crow’s nest. “A ship on the horizon! She looks deserted!”

Scott trained his spyglass with the lookout’s guidance, his mouth set into a thin line. “Look alive, men! These are pirate waters.”

She was flying Dutch colors and low in the water, the sign that she carried something of worth in her hold. The deck was empty though and no plague flag flew from her mast. If she’d been attacked and scuttled, she would have taken damage but Scott couldn’t find any telltale signs of canon fire or splintered wood. A tempting target if they were careful.

“Keep us on course, I want a warning shot across her nose. Let’s wake those bastards up, eh?”

The sailors leaped to their duties, packing the canons and taking aim. The boom was deafening and Scott felt the shock through his chest as they fired, sending great plumes of water up into the air. There was no response from the other ship as it drifted closer. Odd, but intriguing. Maybe there had been some sort of mutiny on board and the crew had slain each other or maybe they’d been wiped out by illness and left nothing but a ghost ship behind. Scott felt trepidation gnaw in his gut as he slipped his spyglass away and readied his pistol. “Boarding party! Get those hooks into her side and drag her in. I want everyone on board that wreck.”

Heavy iron hooks swung over the empty ship’s rail with loud thunks, biting into the wood and tying both vessels together. Before Scott could give the order, a loud roar erupted from the captured ship. Shots rang out and men screamed as they were hit. “It’s a trap! Everyone, to arms. ATTACK!”

The hidden crewmen of the Dutch ship swarmed out from below the decks, cutting down the first wave of Scott’s own men before they rallied. A coward’s trick to lure in the greedy, it wasn’t a bad gambit when your ship was too slow or outgunned against the larger galleys. A man had to use whatever wits he had to survive, but Scott was a suspicious man with a well-seasoned crew. The initial advantage lasted only as long as the surprise itself before the Fortune rallied and beat back their attackers with brutal efficiency.

Overhead, black sails dropped from the Dutch ship’s mast, and a rallying cry echoed through their ranks. It was a boost they desperately needed, but in the end, it wasn’t enough. The Fortune and her crew had weathered more formidable foes in her long history. Metal sang and men screamed their last. It was all too vicious, and over all too soon as Scott leveled his blade against the pirate captain’s throat. For a moment, an eerie calm settled over the ship, as the last of the pirates were pinned.

“Men.” Scott lifted his blade, the sharpened tip digging into the other man’s neck, just enough that a drop of blood pimpled against unforgiving steel. “Show our prisoners to the brig.”

A roar of triumph answered him, but the other captain’s mouth twisted in a vicious snarl. Scott smiled right back. He oversaw as the pirates were lead away and did a count of their injured and dead. The crew was in motion, slowly picking apart the pirate ship and rounding up the last of their enemies. It delayed Scott’s visit of their prisoners, but he was in good spirits when he made his descent. He wasn’t greeted in kind.

The brig was deathly silent, quiet enough to hear a pin drop. It wasn’t the first time Scott had received such an audience, and wouldn’t be the last. He’d dealt with worse, but someone interrupted him before he could open his mouth.

“So you’re the fabled Fortune’s Ghost. A lot shorter than I expected.”

He tensed minutely, turning to the pirates’s captain. Salty and unwashed, it was difficult to immediately notice how young he was. He was also exactly as tall as Scott. Thankfully Scott’s hat was bigger.

“You should get out of the habit of pushing your luck. It’s already run out.”

“A lot younger than I thought too.” The rival Captain might have been beaten and chained, but he still wielded his tongue like a weapon. That kind of arrogance could get a man killed. “You’ve picked up a lot of legends for a man barely out of boyhood. You must hire good storytellers to make up your lies.”

Scott smiled bitterly, tipping his feathered hat back to get a better look at the other man. “I beat you, didn’t I?”

The prisoner’s grin slipped and he glared. “A minor setback, though it depends on what you’re planning on doing with us?”

“Your men will have the option to join my crew or be put ashore, you’ll be ransomed back for a price. Until then, you’ll be treated as a gentleman guest as long as you behave yourself.” Scott said calmly. “We have what we wanted and there’s no need for more bloodshed.”

“Your guest? Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.” His rival’s smirk was back in place as he pressed himself against the bars of his cell. “I could use a bit of a vacation. Maybe get some time to verify one or two other legends I’ve heard about you while I’m at it.”

Scott squinted suspiciously, an uncomfortable knot of dread tightening in his chest. He wasn’t sure…no, it couldn’t be. Not after a hundred years. He’d run to the other side of the world and Stiles was finally gone, he’d finally let his best friend rest. This feeling meant nothing and he tried to ignore the warning that prickled down his spine and raised the hair on the back of his neck. “Make yourself comfortable. As long as you and your men don’t cause trouble, you’ll be treated fairly.”

“I’d expect nothing less from the Ghost himself. At least we know one thing they say about you is true. It makes a man wonder about the rest.”

“Excuse me?”

The captain wagged his eyebrows. “Is it as big as a kraken?” Scott sighed loudly and walked away.  _God damn it, Stiles!_

The pirate crew’s was predictable. Wave the right amount of gold in a man’s face, and he would come running, and Scott was only slightly vindictively pleased by the number of those willing to join him. They would be trained and watched. The crew of the Fortune was familiar with the protocol, and Scott was confident enough in his own men’s capacity to quell any mutiny. The rest who wished to disembark would be dropped off at the nearest port, given a week of supplies and their paths would probably never cross again.

Their captain was an entirely different matter. It wasn’t that he was handling his crew’s abandonment badly. That problem was  that their captain was Stiles - that was,  _The Fox._

“Fox is not your real name.”

“Shut up.”

“That’s a ridiculous name. You should change it. Ghost is at least far more intimidating.”

“If you’re implying you’d rather be dead, I can arrange-”

“What are you supposed to be even? There are no foxes in the ocean.”

Captain Stiles-Fox had a fair ransom on his head, and turning him over would be a nice bonus for their crew. Scott sighed over his quill and parchment, a letter already half-written to the English navy. It had been half-written for about a week now. Scott put it away again. Meanwhile, Stiles was doing  _something._ Most people would have trouble determining what, but Scott knew better. That was exactly why Scott was pretty sure Stiles was trying to seduce him. Scott drank a little more ale with his dinner every night so he wouldn’t notice it was working.

“Hey Captain.  _Captain!”_

“What is it Mr. Stiles?”

“I have a complaint about my quarters.”

“I… What seems to be the problem?”

“You’re not in them.”

Scott rolled his eyes and took another drink from his ale. “Does that line ever work on anyone?”

“You tell me.”

 He draped his arm around the Captain’s shoulders, leaning in close enough for Scott to feel Stiles’s breath on his neck. Scott frowned into his cup, refusing to admit defeat. After so many years, he should know better than this, but he was always helpless against his best friend’s charmless attempts. Or not his best friend. This man might be Stiles, but it wasn’t  _his_ Stiles and he couldn’t let himself fall for it again. Trying to save him had always ended in tragedy, the best course of action was to get rid of him somewhere. If he could find a safe port or a ship back to England, he’d never have to see Stiles again. And yet, he leaned into the other man’s touch like he was starved for it.  _I miss you so much._

Stiles plucked the Captain’s cup from his hand and drained it, waving for more. “You should be celebrating tonight, drink up!”

“What exactly am I celebrating, Mr. Stiles?” He asked as the other man held the refilled cup to his lips.

“You, me, a perfect night under a clear sky. The fact I’m going to bed you so thoroughly you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

Scott sputtered and choked, laughing so hard that the crew in their makeshift pub looked over at their normally stoic captain. He shoved the other man back as he fought to breathe. “You’re such an idiot, I can’t believe you’re so persistent.”

The other man faked a gasp before settling into the Captain’s space, smug when Scott didn’t pull away. “I am determined when it comes to something I want.” “You don’t even know me.” “I’d like to get to know you better, Captain. Intimately.”

Scott choked on his drink, and Stiles leaned closer, his lips just brushing against the sensitive curve of Scott’s ear. “I need you… Sexually.”

Stiles flexed just so, making his shirt bunch up in all the right-wrong places, and Scott doubled over, laughing until he wheezed. Right besides him, Stiles lost it, howling until the rest of the men had to turn away. Scott had forgotten what it was like to laugh so freely. His men depended on him, and they had been with him for decades. They trusted him with their lives, and Scott trusted them to fight for his, but first and foremost, he would always be their Captain. He hadn’t intended to distance himself at first, so accustomed to being alone, to being something other than human, but as time went on, he realized it was easier being their Captain than it was being Scott. Stiles smiled at him like he’d given him the stars, and Scott still dreamed about waking up to that smile.It was a mistake. It was a terrible, awful mistake, but that evening, he knocked on their gentleman guest’s door. Stiles’s hair was standing in fifteen directions, and his eyes were almost glued shut with sleep. “Mr. Stiles… I was under the impression you were going to join me in my cabin.”

The surprise on Stiles’s face was so honest, Scott couldn’t help but smile. In his haste, Stiles walked into the door, but that was okay. Scott was there to catch him. When he laughed, it was right against Stiles’s mouth.

It shouldn’t have been so easy, but Scott’s resolve always meant nothing when his best friend was determined. It didn’t matter how many lifetimes they crossed paths, it was one thing that never changed. How could Scott ever think he’d be able to resist? After over a century apart, he pulled Stiles in like a starving man and they tumbled back into the Captain’s cabin, fumbling with the lock on the door and pitching with the gentle roll of the ocean. They were awkward and too eager to take the time to learn each other’s bodies again, but it was perfect. Something about him always made Scott feel like he was whole again.

Afterwards when Stiles was asleep in sheets still damp with sweat, Scott carefully brushed the hair from the other man’s face and traced the swell of his lips with one finger. He looked younger like this, but he always did now. He was brand new to the world, innocent to its dangers and too reckless to care. There was always something similar about Stiles no matter what shape he took. The way he held himself, the stupid sense of humor, the hard edges and darkness inside of him even when he could be gentle. It was the way his lips would quirk when he was thinking, the restlessness in his hands, and how he could make Scott feel human again more than anyone else could. Scott loved him already, or maybe loved him still. Always.

They were weeks away from getting back to port and already, the Captain was dreaming of his little island home with Stiles at his side. They could stay there together under the pretext of waiting for the man’s ransom, but who knew how many years it would take before there’d be any reply. Enough time to build something together and curse the persistent hope that made him try again. They laughed together the whole time, Stiles daring enough to treat the Captain like an equal and Scott for once allowing it. He watched his captive bend over charts, carefully plotting their course under the stars with pride. It never ceased to amaze him how Stiles could change with every life and all the clever tricks he learned, but the core of who he was remained the same. At night, they’d share his cabin and each other until they fell asleep, spent and satisfied with Scott trying to bury the anxious questions in the back of his mind. _Why did you follow me here? How can I keep you?_

“I can’t believe that worked. I can’t believe  _this_ worked.” Stiles said, overwhelmed and fearless all at once, his hand heavy on the small of Scott’s sweaty back. He dragged him closer like he’d spent his whole life doing, bumping their noses together and laughing when Scott tried to wiggle away. “ It never works! What part of it worked? Am I aggressively sexual?”

“Good lord, stop talking!” Scott laughed, and he laughed again, when Stiles pushed him on his back and licked the salt off his lips.

Scott never suspected it. The sea had been kind for them, and they rode as fast as the winds. The Fortune made port on a small island, so Scott’s crew could replenish their supplies and the rest of their guests could disembark. His first mate had been given instructions to barter away some of their stolen goods; and if the man skimmed off the top of their profits, it was only because he knew Scott allowed him. It was hard to miss land that wasn’t his own. For the longest time, Scott had spent his years trying to escape it, and now, with the most tempting distraction locked away in his cabin, he saw no reason to leave his ship.

“It’s just us now?” Stiles asked, his face pressed against the viewing hole of Scott’s cabin door. The Captain didn’t look up from his maps, a smile teasing his lips. He had to make sure everything was in order before he could forget it all under the feel of his best friend’s hands. 

“We’re not screwing in the crow’s nest, Stiles. I don’t care what you say.” 

“I’m sorry, Scott.”

Scott looked up, and that was a mistake. He should have been more careful. He should have been a thousand other things, but around Stiles, he never could be cautious. Stiles made him risk everything every time they were together. The Captain looked up just in time to see his enemy stab his sword through his shoulder, hard enough that Scott jerked forward as the blade embedded in his desk.

Stiles twisted the blade in until Scott screamed, holding a sharpened dagger against the back of his nape. “There’s only room for one captain on the Fortune. You should’ve known better than to trust a fox.” His voice was calm, cool, and Scott thought about the first time he spoke, with his enemy in chains. It hadn’t stopped Stiles from daring. “Yield now, and your crew will be unharmed.”

Pain lanced through him, but it was an old companion. The betrayal cut deeper and knocked the breath from his body as he struggled to understand the words and the meaning of cold steel against his neck. He’d left himself open, trusting a man he barely knew because of a dead man that was long gone. It was Stiles and it  _wasn’t_  Stiles anymore, Scott never could get himself to remember that second part. His best friend didn’t exist anymore and even if there was something the same in him, this wasn’t the same man. Scott ignored him and bowed his head as his hand curled into the maps across the desk, blood pooling like oceans between the carefully sketched islands.

“This was all for my ship?”

“It’s more than just a ship, Scott.” Stiles crooned in his ear. “It’s the game. It’s power. You’re a good man and a damn good fuck, but you didn’t think I’d let you take everything I’ve worked for away from me, did you?”

“I’d have given you so much more.” He kicked out to send Stiles stumbling back even as the dagger bit into his neck when his rival fell. Grabbing the sword holding him in place, he sliced his hands into a bloody mess and twisted to unpin himself from the table. He screamed again as the edge scraped hard against bone and worked the weapon out of his shoulder.

Stiles picked himself up and watched in horrified fascination as the Captain yanked the blade free, holding it loosely in ruined hands. He had transformed from laughing you man to gore soaked nightmare in a matter of seconds, but it was his face that made Stiles freeze. Betrayal and hurt warred in Scott’s dark eyes, an unsettling resignation instead of the rage Stiles had expected. He had stabbed Scott through the shoulder, but it looked more like someone had cut out his heart. Fear rose like bile in the back of his throat as the brown skin slowly start to knit itself back together as he watched.

“What are you?!”

This time, Scott had an answer for him. “A monster.”

Stiles waited for the retaliation, but the fight never came. The Captain took the dagger from his nerveless hands and herded him out on the deck under the bright sun. “Get off my ship, Stiles.” Scott said tiredly. “Just go.”

Mercy even after what Stiles had done? The Ghost had earned his name. The image of Scott standing alone on the deck watching him row towards the island, shoulders hunched in misery and broken by someone he’d foolishly trusted haunted Stiles.

His first mate saw too much when the crew returned, but Scott was hard pressed to find the motivation to keep up appearances.

“We set sail immediately, Mr. de Graaf.”

“Of course, Captain.” 

If anyone noticed Stiles’s absence or the blood on Scott’s hands, none were brave to comment.

The sea had lost its allure. Scott’s illusion of safety had shattered around his feet, and all that was left was a hollow woe. He thought of the decades he had left, with Stiles roaming the seas. It was only a matter of time before he found another ship, and once those decades were through, there would be more, waiting for Stiles to find him again. There was nowhere on Earth their paths wouldn’t cross, and the realization was monstrous with its simplicity. There was nothing left for Scott to give. All he was anymore was tired.

* * *

 

It was a perfect night under a clear sky. Scott let his mug go empty.

“Another, Captain?”

“Not tonight, Mr. de Graaf. There’s nothing to celebrate.”

His first mate’s mouth thinned in a pensive line, but it had been years since he’d given into his anger the way he had as a young man. Alistair de Graaf came from a long line of seafarers. Scott remembered the first time they met, when they looked the same age but Scott was already captain. Now, he had silver in his hair.

“You ever think the Fortune could use a new captain, Mr. de Graaf? I think you ought to consider the position.”

If possible, Alistair’s expression soured even further. “I’d be a poor Ghost, Captain. I don’t look like a choir boy anymore.”

Scott smiled despite himself. It was a bitter thing. “Maybe the Fortune could use some new legends.”

“By my reckoning, sir, there isn’t anything wrong with the old ones.”

Scott would have protested, but it required too much effort. He couldn’t stop de Graaf from screwing up his courage.

“If I may… What did that wretched sea dog try?”

 _He took everything._ “Stabbed me right through the shoulder. I can’t even feel it anymore.”

Scott took that refill.

It was early morning, pitch black and hours before the sun when the shout managed to rouse the Captain from his sleep. He blinked in drunk confusion at the sudden alarm, brain too muddled to make sense of the world. The explosion came a moment later, the boat rocking sideways as wood splintered, sending the Scott tumbling from his bunk. He staggered out on deck in nothing but his breeches, sword in hand and ears ringing.

“ALISTAIR!” He yelled for his first mate as the ship rocked again, men screaming as they were cut down by the blast. The attacking ship had stalked them through the darkness with their lanterns snuffed, not even the lookout had seen the silhouette of their enemies until the first blast. The ship burned around him and Scott coughed at the thick oily smoke. “Bring her around, prime the canons!” The Captain cursed, dashing to the wheel and fighting with the crippled ship.

Men poured out of the smoke like demons, faces lit by flame and Scott snarled as he cut them down. The deck shuddered under his feet as the entire ship listed heavily sideways. The Captain screamed as sharp wood splinters buried themselves in his side. A blow to the head sent him sprawling and Scott gasped to breathe as his lungs failed, everything swallowed in blackness.

He woke slowly, disoriented and groggy. His face felt swollen and his side throbbed like someone had taken a brand to his skin. He was on a smooth wooden floor, but he couldn’t feel the ocean pitching beneath him.

“Do you know how long I’ve been hunting you?”

A boot prodded him in the side and Scott groaned, curling into his wound.

“The Ghost, the pirate who can’t die. They tell stories about you, you know? You’ve become something of a legend. When I heard it, I knew I had to come here.”

Scott tried to crawl away from the voice, hands shaking as he reached out for help. The floor was slick and wet as he dragged his body forward. “Alastair.” He hissed, finding his first mate laying prone beside him. “Alastair!” Scott gripped his old friend’s shoulder, shaking as hard as he could to rouse him. Alastair’s head lolled, empty eye sockets staring blanking at Scott who recoiled with a broken cry.

Rough fingers knotted into the Captain’s hair and yanked his head back. Bright hazel-green eyes held him captive and Scott’s entire body went numb.

“ _Theo_.”

“Hello, husband.”

His world tilted dangerously sideways, and Scott fought so hard to stay afloat. This couldn’t be happening. It wouldn’t be the first time his nightmares had tormented him so brutally. It wouldn’t be the first time his fractured mind tried to piece together the impossible. This was a cruel sort of want, and everything hurt all at once. Scott couldn’t stop himself from reaching out, horror twisting the desperation on his face. Theo pulled him closer, warm and solid beneath Scott’s shaking hands.

“You’re dead.” He pleaded. “I-”

“Killed me?” 

Scott’s knees buckled, a strangled, hopeless sound catching in his throat. “You’re not real.” He tried to say, words twisting on his tongue. “You can’t be - you’re not.”

Theo’s grip was unforgiving, as he slammed him against a wooden pole. The Captain let out a pained wheeze, the air punched out of his lungs. Scott had seen many things in his life, but fear had never left him so cold.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet, Scott? I can’t die.  _We_ can’t die.” He left bruises along Scott’s arm, watching tears pool in his husband’s eyes. “You were supposed to be my greatest triumph.”

“ _What did you do_?”

Theo laughed, tracing bloodstained fingers down the side of his prisoner’s face as Scott flinched away. “All these centuries and you never knew? I did all of this for us, Scott! We were supposed to be together for eternity, we were going to start an empire that no one could stand against. I saw the potential in you all those years ago, you have something in you that I’ve never seen before. You make men want to follow you. They swear away their lives and their loyalty to you without you ever having to ask. I want that, I want you at my side and we can own them all.”

Scott squeezed his eyes shut, mind a screaming blank. Impossible, impossible. He’d known madness before, this was his mind shattering and all his worst fears bursting free to drag him down. It couldn’t be real! Everything in him rebelled at the thought, but Theo’s lips were warm against his, catching each pained moan and coaxing him into giving more than he ever wanted. “You killed my crew.” It was the least of Theo’s crimes, but the only one he could grasp onto in his terror.

“I’ve killed a lot of people.” The man said dismissively. “I wouldn’t have to if it worked the way it should have in the beginning. The ritual was supposed to bind your will to me, not just your life. You weren’t supposed to have been able to resist. Immortality means nothing if I’m alone, but I’m so close to getting it right now.” Theo kissed him again as Scott knotted his fingers in the other man’s shirt, unsure of whether he wanted to throw him off or hold him closer. “Of course, now that I’ve found you again, I could always break you the old fashioned way.”

Everything felt distant and cold, like he’d been separated from himself and watched his body react like a stranger. He felt nothing, understood nothing. He drifted in ice, completely numb to the world as Theo’s words tried to chip away at the walls around him. Scott couldn’t make sense of them, even his thoughts were paralyzed. Ritual? Binding? The reason he couldn’t die. Empty eye sockets, bloody and accusing…

“You killed Stiles!” The flash of rage surprised Scott as he howled, clawing down Theo’s face like he could tear the flesh from his bones. All these years, the crushing guilt that he’d murdered his best friend and condemned them both to this unending existence had ingrained itself deep in his soul. The self-loathing and hatred were constant companions and it had all been a lie. He fought like a wild thing, more feral animal than man. The only instinct left was to take Theo down with him.

Pain meant nothing when he could make his tormentor suffer. He drove Theo back and for a moment, there was terror written across the other monster’s face before he reached for the blade resting on a nearby table. Scott almost didn’t feel the first cut of steel, but horror settled over his bones as numbing tremors ran up his nerves. When his knees gave way, Scott crumpled to the ground. 

Theo wouldn’t give him release. Vicious kicks hammered into him, pain bursting through every corner of his mind. Scott couldn’t move, couldn’t control his limbs. Theo grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head into the ground heard enough for the wood beneath them to splinter, and all he could do was take it.

“Funny how this curse works. It can cheat death, but it won’t stop a little poison.” The prince demanded, laughter twisting his handsome face into something horrifying. He pushed Scott on his back, watched the former king writhe in pain before straddling his hips, unable to even lift a hand to defend himself. “Was that good for you, Scott? I knew you had it in you. I always saw what no one else could.”

He dragged the tip of his dagger across his prisoner’s mouth, smearing blood across its edge. “I want your anger. I want to see what you can do. I want everything. I took away your mother. I took away your best friend. I’m going to break you until there’s nothing left, and I’m going to build you back up, Scott. You’re mine now.”

His hands spread across Scott’s chest, tearing through the fabric of his shirt with careless ease. “You always have been.”

The breath rattled in Scott’s chest as he spiraled down into darkness. The last thing he saw was the white of Theo’s smile.

When he finally woke again, curse dragging him back from death, he couldn’t recognize the room. Lanterns burned low and he swore he could hear the sound of waves outside the door. Were the on land? How long had Theo kept him like this? He struggled to move, but his limbs felt like they were encased in lead and too heavy to lift. Even if his heart beat again and the wounds in his side were stiff as they healed, the poison still flowed through his veins.

A figure moved across his vision, bed creaking as Theo joined him. “You like it? All the richest fit for a king. For  _kings_ , Scott. That’s what we are and once you’re ready, we’re going to remind the world why they should obey.”

“Nnn-“ He slurred, trying to speak but Theo shushed him with a kiss.

“This is your first lesson. I can make it hurt or…” Theo trailed his fingers down the bare skin of Scott’s chest to rest low on his hip. “I can make it feel good. I still know what you like unless you’ve changed so much.”

Scott tried to push the other man away, but his body only listened to Theo’s touch, shivers racing down his spine as the other man dragged wet, open mouthed kisses down his navel. He’d been stripped and exposed, Theo taking his time to bare him completely while he’d been out and made good use of it now. Scott wanted to protest, but he could only gasp as Theo cupped his half-hard cock, stroking the sensitive skin of his thighs until they twitched apart in reluctant eagerness.

“There we go.” Theo smiled, letting his fingers twist around Scott’s dick infuriatingly slow. “You know we’re supposed to be together, Scott. I never meant to leave you for so long. I tried to find you for years, but you’d disappeared. I won’t let you go again.”

“Stop.” Scott forced out the word, but the other man just laughed and slid his body between the Captain’s legs. He licked Scott’s mouth open and swallowed his protests, whispering more poison into raw ears. “You’re lonely, aren’t you? My poor sweet king, you’ve been lonely for so long. I’m the only one on earth who understands.” The words seared themselves into Scott’s mind like a brand. He’d lost everyone he’d ever known, he could never save any of them. Even Stiles was gone, the man who carried his soul was a stranger.

“You’ll never be alone.”

A part of Scott wished that was true.

Theo knew when to be sweet, letting his hands wander across Scott’s aching body. His fingers brushed across his ribs, and down his trembling flank like he was trying to memorize the feel of his body. Each kiss was a threat and a promise, drawing Scott in deeper when all he wanted was relief. 

“Theo stop. Please stop. I don’t want this.” His breath hitched as Theo pinned his wrists into silk sheets, body moving against his with a practiced ease. He was careful with Scott like no one had been in years, teasing him until he bucked and groaned, a helpless, tired little sound that Theo wanted to own. Kindness was a weapon Scott had no defense again, writhing under his husband’s hands as he was worked open, stretched around his thick length. His mouth fell open with a scream, body aching it felt so full, throbbing with want. Theo took what he wanted from him, using him with agonizing precision. His cock dragged through him, fat and heavy as it stroked down his frantic nerves, drawing out broken, eager whimpers. Scott gasped for air, chest heaving with effort. All he could do was hold on, fingers digging into the bed. He hated the way he spread his legs, desperate under relentless torment, arching his back as Theo dragged his nail down his skin. 

“You look so good like this, Scott.” He whispered, licking the sweat off his husband’s lips and stealing a moan straight off his tongue. “So perfect. So good for me. My sweet king.”

His fingers curled around Scott’s aching dick, pumping him in a tortuous rhythm. He smeared precum over his dripping head, stroking down the long shaft as he fucked into his prize, until Scott was an incoherent mess, sobbing, begging him for release. He still opened up so eagerly when Theo fed him his fingers, licking his taste off of calloused skin, sucking him down like a cheap whore. Theo used him until Scott couldn’t move. Then he forced him on his knees and fucked into his pretty mouth.

The king’s consort could be so kind. Scott lived in luxury amount countless other stolen treasures. The island was a pirate’s dream, and as long as he was good and obedient, there was nothing he wouldn’t be provided. He never should have attempted escape. Punishment was swift and brutal. Scott pleaded as his legs were broken, bones crushed under unyielding stone. He was starved and beaten, left nailed to a stake on Theo’s dock, but his husband freed him on the third day, with tender hands and the lightest touch. 

“I told you, I can make it hurt, or I can take care of you.” Theo promised, drawing Scott into a warm bath, scented with only the finest herbs and spices. He washed the sand from his hair, and the blood off his prisoner’s burned skin, holding him close as his body mended. Theo offered him sweet fruits, feeding him by hand, and soothing Scott’s parched throat, and Scott cried for mercy, curled against his chest and holding on with what little strength he had left. Theo promised never to let him fall. 

It was easy to fall into the promise of peace. For a while Scott drifted, letting his captor take care of him. He convinced himself he was biding his time, searching for the right opportunity. It was easier than fighting back. He woke with Theo’s arms around his waist, helped him catch fish for their dinner and watched the stars with him at night. He remembered what their marriage had been like. The good parts were easier to remember. That was nostalgia’s curse.

Opportunity happened quite suddenly, truly when Scott least expected it. It was laughable really, as he tipped his head back, letting his husband shave the most off his beard. His razor settled around Scott’s pulse, and the captain let his eyes fall shut, a tired exhale leaving his lips. He didn’t see the way Theo smiled, possessive and entirely smug, but he felt the way his grip slackened. One moment was all Scott needed to steal the blade, knocking it out of Theo’s hand and stabbing him in the throat. He yanked back the razor in a spray of crimson, forcing his husband to the ground with relentless hits. Theo fell back, trying to draw away as agony cut through him, but he faced Scott with a ghastly smile.

“Do it,” he spat like a curse, all the color already drained from his face. “There’s nowhere for you to go.”

With a frenzied cry, Scott stabbed Theo through the heart and left him to bleed out. When Theo awoke, dinner was already on the table.

Neither one of them mentioned the matching red smears across Scott’s wrists.

That night, Theo punished by staking him out in the stand of their paradise turned nightmare and leaving him there as the tide rolled in and Scott’s lungs filled with sea water. When the water finally receded and he woke, coughing and gagging for air, it was the sun that became his enemy. His skin burned and blistered after hours of unrelenting heat, his parched lips cracked and split. He almost begged for the cool touch of the water even as the salt burned his raw wounds and he drowned again. Scott had no idea how many days he was tormented or if there was anyone else on the beach who heard his broken pleading for help. If Theo had a crew, he never saw them.

By the time he was released, Scott was delirious and docile, too tired to keep fighting as cruel hands once again soothed gently down his ravaged body. Theo was right, he always was. It was better when things didn’t hurt. Pride was for men who still had something left to lose, all Scott wanted was a moment of rest whatever the cost.

 Theo kept murmuring his poison until Scott believed every word. If he could just be good, then he wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. Stiles was gone, his mother was dead, everyone else who knew him in the world had passed away centuries before. At least Theo could promise him forever and mean every word. The pain was excruciating, but his husband could be so gentle.

Scott broke slowly. He found himself looking forward to when Theo would visit him with an anxious anticipating, worrying when he was left alone. He opened his arms eagerly for the attention, responding with greedy little mewls as Theo fucked him and begging for more. Sleep came easier when he was curled against the other man’s side with Theo’s hands in his hair and whispered words of praise that left him preening.

“You’re such a good boy for me, Scott. You do so well. I’m proud of you, baby. I love you.”

When Scott echoed those three little words, he wasn’t even surprised to find he meant them.

The days blurred together, so many spent in only each other's company, Scott lost the ability to tell them apart. Yet one moment stood out, a warm day they wasted sitting by the docks just outside their home, when Theo laced his fingers with Scott and asked, “Do you miss the sea?”

“Yes. Every day.”

Theo always knew how to surprise Scott. The gifts of gold and precious in his substantial collection were for Theo and his ego, but he handed his husband a finely crafted spyglass, the sort of tool the captain of the Fortune would have once cherished and needed on his expeditions. Together, they were a mockery of what happiness could have been.

“Some day, we’ll go back.” Theo promised, with the certainty of a man who had eternity to reach his goals. “You’ll captain your own ship, and you’ll fight by my side. We'll have an armada.” 

His arm settled around Scott’s shoulders, as the captain adjusted his view on the spyglass. Scott was almost looking forward to it. The spyglass would be useful sooner than he suspected. It was with it that he spotted an unfamiliar ship on the horizon, approaching their island fast. Theo was in their home, redrawing his maps from his latest expedition. As Scott turned the spyglass over in his hands, wondering about the traps his husband kept and the island’s defenses, before he went back inside. Someone had to make sure Theo was kept busy. Hope was the sickest monster.

The first sound of cannon fire sparked bitterness in the back of Scott’s mind. A head on assault would never work, especially not if they were attacking the beach settlement where Theo’s men made camp. The waters were treacherous and no vessel worth her salt would be able to get close enough to do any real damage, not without someone from town lowering underwater fences.

“That’s odd,” Theo said, looking away from his work briefly to consider his husband with a peculiar expression. Scott considered calling him back, but kept to his role. 

“Should we join the fight?” He asked instead, and for a moment, he was startled by how Theo’s smiled warmed him all the way to his toes.

“Perhaps, but not yet, we have nothing to fear.”

Theo had no idea how wrong he was. Scott screamed in horror as the wall behind Theo burst into flame, knocking them both to the ground.

Later Scott would understand Theo’s confusion. His home was his private fortress, all but isolated from the outer shoreline, save for a winding path that lead to a hidden cove. No one but the island inhabitants knew it existed, and even then, not all of them. But as his home burned, and armed men swarmed the property, his terror felt a lot like triumph. 

Embers burned against his exposed skin as Scott stumbled back. Theo loved to dress him in stolen jewels and thin white cotton to show off his body which did nothing to protect him against the flames that erupted around him. He bit back a terrified scream, trying to block out the matching fire in his memory. He had to get out of here, he couldn’t do this again.

He scrambled outside, the warm tropical night lit by hellish oranges and reds as the building burned. An explosion sent him tumbling down to his knees as a cast of shot caught fire and chips of stone rained down on him. This was his chance, he could finally escape this place and…and he needed to find Theo. He couldn’t just leave him here to face this alone, the other man had promised never to abandon him. Scott knew that he was throwing his freedom away, but he dashed back inside the burning house and groped for Theo even as his eyes watered and his throat closed. He found an arm and pulled, dragging the other man outside into the sand and lay gasping beside him for air.

They coughed thick smoke from their lungs before Scott rolled over, tugging Theo to his feet. “We have to go. We have to run!” He hated himself for the worry in his voice and hated himself even more for how genuine it was.

“SCOTT!” A figure stood in the burning wreckage like the devil himself, steel reflecting the unholy light and surrounded by a halo of hellfire. The voice made Scott freeze, stomach sinking down to his feet as reality slid into nightmare. Not real, this wasn’t real. “Scott!”

“No…”

Stiles shoved his way through the rubble, levelling his sword at Theo who drew his own weapon with a snarl. “Whoever you think you are, you’ll pay for this. I’ll slit you from nose to groin.”

“You dare trespass on my home.” Theo’s face twisted with hatred, blood dripping sluggishly from his charred skin, madness blazing in his eyes, but he stood like a king in his castle. “Your head will hang from the mast of my ship.”

Stiles and his foolish, foolish greed. He’d betrayed Scott. He was no longer his best friend. He hadn’t been for centuries, but as his eyes turned to the Fortune’s Ghost, determination left no room for doubt or confusion. It was that certainty that sparked recognition, Scott saw it light in Theo’s eyes as he realized the impossibility of the man standing before them and the old soul with a new face. Scott couldn’t second guess himself. Theo promised him an eternity. Scott had already lost himself, but he wasn’t going to let him hurt Stiles again.

Without warning, he lunged, knocking the blade out of Theo’s hand. Metal dug into his burned palms, but he pressed his advantage. The surprise on Theo’s face lasted for as long as it took Scott to turn his sword against him. The blow was quick and efficient. Theo was dead before he hit the ground. Behind him, Stiles gasped in shock, but Scott knelt beside his husband and closed Theo’s eyes before cutting his head clear off.

“Go,” Scott whispered, head lowered and shoulders slumped. His world was crashing down, and he was so tired of running. “Take the gold. Take his ship, take everything, but go quickly. I’ll hold him off for as long as I can.”

Stiles had watched the nightmare play out before him, but it was Scott’s quiet surrender that sent him reeling. Of course, only a monster could take down the Ghost. Scott flinched away from his hand, no matter how gently it’d rested on Scott’s shoulder, and Stiles was so very sorry.

“I can’t. Not without you.”

A memory of a smile flashed across the Ghost’s face and was gone too quickly. “You don’t even know me, this isn’t your fight.”

“It could be?” He hadn’t thought about how much his betrayal would follow him and months later, he couldn’t rid himself of Scott’s sorrowful expression as he let him go with more mercy than Stiles deserved. He tried to move on, forget a failed bid for power and try his hand at the next scheme, but he dreamed about Scott laughing as they made love in the Captain’s quarters and the way the stoic man could tease when they were alone with no one there to watch them. Stiles had always wanted power, but he was slow to realize a real treasure when he had it. Stiles had been so sure before when he’d first heard rumors of the Fortune’s demise. He’d been too angry to think straight, tracking down sailor after sailor until he finally found one of Theo’s crew to “persuade” for information. Bartering with what was left of Scott’s fleet had given him the men he needed to mount a rescue.

But no one had ever said he’d be fighting a monster.

Scott shook his head. “I don’t have anything left to give you, Stiles. I’m supposed to be here.”

“Like hell you are!” He grasped Theo’s head, gagging at the gore, and flung it out into the ocean to be swept away by the outgoing tide. “I didn’t spend the last few months tracking you down just so you could stay here.”

“Then why did you come?” Scott didn’t want to argue, too tired to fight anymore. He sank down into the bloodstained sand beside the body of his husband like he didn’t have the strength to stand.

“Because I’m sorry. I let you down.”

“That’s no reason for you to throw your life away.”

Scott would keep those words though. He’d hold them close to his chest and remember them for as long as possible. He didn’t know what he was without Theo. Theo was responsible for all of it, was responsible for his never ending life and all the pain and suffering that came with it. The thought was overwhelming, and for the first time, Scott was allowed to think of something more than survival. He had freedom. It was such a heavy burden to bear.

Calloused hands cupped his face, forcing him to look up. Stiles’s mouth was pressed in a thin line, but he was ever so careful as he brushed a stray tear off Scott’s cheek. The young captain hated guilt. He hated everything about it. He hated the way he woke up thinking about the man who let him go. He hated himself for wishing he could still hold him, but when Scott gave him the option to run away, he found himself hating that even more. He’d never felt this way about anyone. No one had ever made him feel as strong as Scott did.

“Then maybe you are. Please, Scott. I’m not going to let him win.” 

Stiles knew that he might have just agreed to throw his entire life away, but when Scott looked at him like that, when he pressed his cheek into Stiles’s hands and let himself be held, Stiles couldn’t regret it.

“Come on. Let me get you out of here. You were saying something about gold?”

Stiles may have teased, but the first thing they did was bury the body. It took them too long, but they scattered the pieces of the monster’s corpse across his island and carried the rest with them to throw into the ocean. When Scott boarded his ship, his head held high, his lips twisted into a tight smile, a roar of applause exploded through the galley. He recognized old faces, survivors from Theo’s brutal attacks and those who tended his island home. The crew was electrified, high on victory and amazed by the extent of their looted treasure. Stiles stayed close by, their elbows just bumping before he asked, “And what do we do with the prisoners, Captain?”

“The men will have the option to join our crew or be put ashore. Let’s get off this godforsaken island. Hoist the main sail!”

Co-Captain, Scott thought later. He liked the sound of that.

He had never been so relieved to get back to his island home or so overwhelmed by the support of his men who were genuinely glad to see him. It was even better when he could escape the revelry and shut himself in the quiet of his cabin, back in his own bed where he could pretend that the sound of the ocean carried away the pain of the last few months. Stiles joined him when the bonfires on the beach burned low and the men had paired off for the night. He climbed in beside Scott, slowly enough to give him a chance to decline and encouraged when he didn’t.

The light inside of Scott had dimmed, Stiles could see it clearly. Whatever it was that kept the man alive and his body whole couldn’t hide the scars that were branded across his soul. Scott was quieter now, less apt to smile and passive in Stiles’s arms. “I’m going to take care of you.”

Scott didn’t speak, but he wasn’t sure he could believe those words anymore. He didn’t know if he had the strength to believe in anything. “I told you, Stiles. I don’t have anything left to give you. Nothing more that I already haven't.”

Stiles traced his fingers along the unmarked skin of the other man’s shoulder where he’d once run Scott through. “Maybe someone should give something to you for a change?”

The captain twisted in Stiles’s arms to look at him, dark eyes guarded but surprised. “Why? We had our chance and you literally stabbed me in the back. Why did you risk so much to find me and why would you ever want to stay?”

Stiles smiled, bringing Scott’s knuckles to his lips and pressing a soft kiss against his skin. “Because I’m a pirate and I know precious booty when I see it.”

“No.”

“Because I think you’re a piece of arrrrrrrrrrrt.”

“Stiles no, no one says that. It’s a stereotype!”

“Because I hope you like to matey, because I'm about to swab your deck.”

“Oh my god, Stiles!” Scott couldn’t help but laugh for the first time in ages, putting his hand over Stiles’s face to smother him. It felt good, this felt right. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to laugh again, but he shook helplessly with it until he was exhausted and drifted off to sleep in Stiles’s arms.

They had a little more than twenty years to heal the damage of Theo’s poison. It was slow, the wounds so much worse than anything physical and so easy to fester with doubt and self-hatred. Stiles was patient as he coaxed Scott back into the world and proving that there was still some part of _his_ Stiles that remained. They rebuilt a life on their island, their little town growing as sailors flocked to join the Ghost’s crew. They added captured ships to their growing fleet, indulging in more legitimate trade that brought more merchant vessels to their little island until the town resembled a burgeoning city. Above them on a little hill overlooking the ocean, Scott and Stiles found a brief moment of peace.

 

 

 

 

 

Stiles hadn’t understood what he was listening to at first, half-convinced that he was listening to an old car backfiring as he paid for his fries. Then a second followed, and he took off running. 

The detective turned a corner, and watched with growing terror as Scott McCall was gunned down. Scott fell with a heavy thud only to get back up, swiping at his attacker’s feet and sending him to the ground. He lunged, attacking the man with a silver blade that seemed impossibly bright and knocking his gun away. Each moment was economical and well-practiced, like he’d spent his entire life bringing knives to gun fights. 

“Freeze!” He yelled, raising his gun, advice no one was looking to follow. With a vicious snarl, the attacker pushed Scott off of him and took off running. Stiles gave chase, but he lost him after a few blocks. Back at the alley, Scott was already gone, except there was more than enough of him on the sidewalk to leave the worst sort of trail.

Digging up McCall’s address wasn’t so creepy anymore, his home just a few buildings away. Stiles was met with the worst sort of surprise. Scott’s apartment door was left unlocked.  “If you think this makes you look any less suspicious, kid, jokes on you.” The detective started, heart in his hands, adrenaline racing through his veins, but in the center of the room, in a puddle of his own blood, Scott was fighting for his life. “Scott! Scott, Jesus, did you see - we gotta g ~~e~~ t you to a hospital.”

He pressed a hand to Scott’s belly, anything to try and stave the bleeding. A pained whimper escaped Scott’s lips, his eyes feverish bright, cold sweat across his brow.

“We can’t keep meeting like this.” He rasped, so painfully tired. 

“Just hold on, Scotty, just fucking hold on. Don’t do this to me, dammit. I still need to take you out.”

_You never change, Stiles._ Scott tried to say, but the words were lost on a bloody smile.

“Scott, come on, focus, Scott! SCOTT!” Scott turned towards him, one last time, and Stiles’s entire body went numb as he breathed his last.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find Dans's awesome fics [here](http://nevertrustastilesthing.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can read Rune's stuff [Here](http://fightingforthepack.tumblr.com/) and find her on tumblr at [ Runicscribbles](http://runicscribbles.tumblr.com)


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